Vengeance Is Thy Name
by Sarr Chasm
Summary: London, 1880. Follows the night of William's rejection by Cecily. It has more repercussions than for just Spike-- Oh, say, eventually leading Cecily to the life of vengeance? (Will involve the Scourge...Eventually.)
1. Haunted

Disclaimer: My Fan Fic has a first name... It's "Don't-Sue-Me-Joss-Whedon".... My bologna has a second name... It's "M-E-Y-E-R"... 

Aw crap, now I'm getting sued by both Joss/ME/UPN AND Oscar Meyer... And I don't even -like- hot dogs!   
  


Summary: The year is 1880 and Cecily has just brushed off William. ("Fool For Love") How will the repercussions turn her to the world of vengeance and the alias of Halfrek? 

A/N: Thanks for reading (in advance)... And thanks even more for reviewing! (In advance... But I mean it!) Tell me what you think, and I hope you stick this one out. I actually have a lot of ideas for this one! Woohoo!   
  


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Vengeance Is Thy Name    
  


Cecily Woodsworth stood on the fringe of a conversation, idly fluttering her white laced fan. The air held a smoky quality to it as a faint tobacco scent drifted from the men's sitting room. Her large brown eyes, doeish in quality, followed the movements of the animated speaker with politeness, but her mind was on anything but the tastefully humorous anecdote. Her words to William earlier in the evening plagued her conscience-- though he had caught her at a bad time to profess his love. 

Mere moments before she had unwittingly entered into a reading of William's latest tribute to her beauty, she had been composing herself in her room, painstakingly covering the streaks that tears had left in their wake on her powered face. If it was "frowned" upon for guests to break down during a party, imagine the stress on a hostess for perfect amiability. 

Still, bad occurrences were no excuse for improper behavior. While some in Cecily's circle prided themselves on their biting and caustic wit, she had been raised to treat others in a genteel and kindly manner. 

*Perhaps that is why I attract the social rejects. I'm just too nice.* an inner voice reasoned. *Look at Marguerite Cedarblade, soon to be Mrs. Richard Jones. Surely she didn't acquire such a fortuitous match by allowing poorer men to dote on her. Really, it was the right time to set that William straight... Although perhaps I needn't have put it so bluntly.* Cecily recalled the destroyed look in his eyes when she had stood up, landing her final blow. 

"You're beneath me." 

The wretched thing; his lower lip actually had quivered. When he shook his head in disbelief, the unfashionable mop of sandy hair wiggled comically on his head and his thick glasses seemed ready to fall into his lap. His hands which he had been wringing nervously in his lap sat still, stunned by her comment. His odd cheekbones seemed even more pronounced as he sucked in his breath, obviously shaken. The poor, wretched thing. But still, it had been necessary. There was no point in letting such unreciprocated feelings ferment any longer; it was just cruel. 

"Don't you think?" 

A voice interrupted Cecily's private musings, jarring her back to reality. Everyone involved in the conversation that Cecily had been -pretending- to be involved in looked to her for her reply. Smiling graciously, always the perfect hostess, she fluttered her fan. 

"Don't I think? Of course not, Richard. That is why I leave it up to you." The men and women chuckled appreciatively while Richard carried out the rest of the his conversation with a man beside him. Cecily silently reproached herself for spacing out and gracefully made her way to a sofa where Marie Kingsley, her most bosom friend, had just seated herself and was subtly gesturing to her. 

Fanning out her ivory gown behind her, Cecily seated herself, immediately grasping Marie's hand in friendship. 

"I have had the most -dreadful- night," she complained quietly, for it would never do to be labeled a whiner. "I must tell you all about it when you accompany me to the country in a fortnight... You are still coming, are you not?" Marie smiled widely and nodded. 

"Of course. You know I never cancel on you, Cecily. Life would be ever so droll." Marie's twinkling blue eyes were brimming with the excitement of anticipation. She continued, "How I wish all these people would just leave, however. I know they claim to be your family's friends, but honestly! Have you ever seen so many insincere 'friends' in one room?" Cecily giggled and motioned for Marie to quiet down with a careless wave. 

The remainder of the evening was spent in happy company for Cecily, allowing her to nearly forget the troubles of the night. The nagging whispers of guilt subsided when she decided on writing William a letter of apology for her harshness the next day. The upper-crust part of her knew it was not proper-- a lady of good standing should never be required to explain herself to others; but the conscious, gentle part of her felt morally remiss having shot down such a nice man in such a rude manner. Certainly he deserved an explanation... The guilt felt assuaged by this promise of tomorrow and allowed her to enjoy herself. 

The guests seemed contented with the party and many left unusually late (barring impromptu exits by certain unwanted suitors...). It was all Cecily could do to keep a yawn from surfacing as she embraced each as they departed. Marvin, the butler, stood by the door, helping the ladies and gentlemen with their coats and Jacob, the footman, saw that each guest were delivered to their coaches safely. With the rumors of "animal" attacks recently, there was nothing too superfluous to ensure the safety of the wealthy. 

Soon enough there were only three. Cecily exchanged polite, but somewhat strained pleasantries with her parents before making for her bedchamber. Her personal maid, Lydia, had prepared chamomile tea and lain her nightdress on her canopied bed for her. Dragging her tea to the bedside table, she undid her dress (aided by Lydia) and slipped under the covers. Her former governess turned maid (by a small scandal) smiled softly at her and retrieved the book which Cecily had been reading for the past few nights. 

"Honestly, child, do you really think it is proper for a gentlewoman, such as yourself, to be reading such atrocities?" Lydia clucked her tongue, but handed her charge the lengthy book entitled "Terror on the Streets of London" just the same. Cecily merely smiled and waved to her goodnight before settling in for a night of vicarious horror.   
  


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Two, uneventful weeks passed slowly as the Woodsworth family prepared for their summer in the country. When she was little, Cecily used to throw fits about going to their estate, complaining about the isolation, until Lydia had explained to her that people in the country were even more inclined to give parties than when they were in town. That had appeased her. 

The day they were scheduled to leave arrived, but Marie's unexplained tardiness delayed the departure. Jacob offered his mistress a ride up the street and around the corner to the Kingsley's townhouse, but Cecily declined gratefully, offering to walk instead. This fetched her pointed looks of disapproval from both parents, but without any verbal objection, she considered herself permitted the short walk to check on the delay. The day was gloomy-- an overcast sky threatened drizzles and sticking humidity, but mainly blocked out the high, summer sun. There was no breeze to be spoken of while Cecily made her way up the street; trees stood perfectly still, seemingly at attention... Waiting for something... 

A glimmer of white to her right detracted her attention from the road and into a side alley. Squinting her eyes, Cecily caught a glimpse of a blue bonnet and fiery red hair. A cold, sick feeling clenched at her stomach and she made her way into the dank alley, cautiously avoiding rotting garbage and spoiled waste. She craned her neck for any signs of Marie... It was the hair that had set off those warning bells in her head; no one else had hair quite that shade. Timidly, as if suddenly afraid to hear her own voice lest it relay the fear pitting itself in her stomach, she called her friend's name once, then twice. Her keen sense of hearing was rewarded with the sounds of a struggle; muffled voices and scraping feet. 

Cecily turned the corner and gagged at the sight that welcomed her. Marie's bonnet lay strewn carelessly to the side of the slimy brick wall, but it was her dress that captured Cecily's morbid attention. *It used to be white, I think* she thought from within a daze. She could hardly tell anymore; it was stained crimson, a living, flowing color of death. Belatedly realizing there must be a killer involved, she frantically glanced around. That was when she noticed him... He hadn't moved since she had turned the corner. His eyes were frozen on her face, on the "o" of horror her perfect mouth formed. He blinked when she noticed him, though, and began to shake his way out of the thrall she seemed to hold on him. With preternatural speed and predation reflexes, he leapt across the quickly-cooling body toward Cecily, his sandy mop of a hair flopping after hin, but it was too late. In those moments of his study of her mouth she had fled toward her home as quickly as her stunned body could take her. 

*There should be grief* she realized while madly dashing away from that accursed alley. But there was but one thought in her head. 

*William... OhGodWilliam... How could William...? I wish I had remembered to send that letter...*   
  
  
  


TBC... Count on it. 


	2. An Empty Dinner Party

Author's Note: The more I write, the more the plot seems to thicken up on me! It's kinda fun... Nice to have a story that's going somewhere for once. Thanks for everyone that read the first chapter, and even more for those who are coming back for more! Hope very much you enjoy, and please, be free on the advice and suggestions!   
  


I also don't have a beta, so excuse me for all the little foibles you find... I generally write each chapter very quickly and post it up as soon as possible to gauge the reaction (before I have time to catch the little things). So again, *ahem* pardon me. 

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William hesitated at the opening of the alleyway. The sun had begun to peek through the dismal London sky and he was wary of its searing rays. He remembered quite clearly his "vampire training," as Angelus had called it-- except for the moments (or hours) where he had blacked out from the pain. However, as he acclimated to his new unlife, the "rules" seemed overrun by animalistic instinct. For instance, he didn't have to be told twice to feed; the mere thought of the copper-flavored nectar pumping away in a human heatbox was enough to make him salivate. 

Wandering into the back of the alley again, he stared into the lifeless eyes of Marie Kingsley. It was odd-- she had always been the nicest to him at those dreadful parties he was forced (by society) to attend, never mocking him for his attempts at poetry or obvious admiration for Cecily, and yet he felt no remorse, whatsoever, in violently ripping her throat out. In fact, the reward was even greater than the kill; the blanched look of unrestrained horror on Cecily's perfect, round face was enough to bring a smile to his face even then. It was as if a nightmare had come true for her: William was her Terror on the Streets of London. 

A backdoor, leading into the alley, opened on rusting hinges, causing William to glance up with a certain amount of human trepidation. A large, sadistically pleased smile found its way to his face when the figure stepped out the back entrance to the town house and he opened his arm widely in a grand gesture. 

"For you," he offered in an almost gentlemanly fashion. His Dark Princess, a wisp of a woman clothed in lacy white, swayed closer to the still-bleeding corpse. She smiled at her new Black Knight, but the smile waned and faded quickly. She put two, delicate fingers to her temples and began to moan. 

"All wrong, all wrong," she whimpered. "Somebody's slaughtered the lamb, but forgot to invite all the guests to the party." William sidestepped Marie to take Drusilla by the shoulder, turning her to him with concern. 

"No, love, I was about to invite you out, I just--" she cut off his excuse to her misunderstood lament. 

"Where did the guest of honor run to?" she questioned, trying a different approach. "Her friend is all dressed up, but now has nowhere to go," Drusilla paused a moment, directing a pointed, somewhat lucid look to William. "The pixies whisper that she came for hors d'oeuvres but my Prince let her leave before the main course." 

William bit the inside of his cheek. It was true, he had stood by, entranced by the indescribably pleasing and overwhelming scent of fear that had wafted off his former love in waves. It had kept him frozen for seconds too long, allowing her ample time to scamper back out into the breaking sunlight. Touching his face, William finally noticed the crusted gore around his mouth and turned to Drusilla. 

"I don't think she wanted to stay for dinner, pet," he answered with a disarming grin. "But I'll invite her back soon enough," His answer seemed to appease her and she reached a hand out to him. Taking it, he led her to the back entrance and promised her for his error, he'd let -her- clean him up.   
  


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Tripping over herself the entire way, Cecily somehow made it back to her home in one piece. The hem of her sunshine yellow traveling gown had been stained a brownish-red; when her gaze traveled to her feet, she felt ready to empty the early morning tea into the bushes. She was unconsciously crying, tears marring her complexion as they seemed to so often these days. Jacob stepped away from the carriage where he was fastening the luggage, his young brow furrowed in an uncharacteristic expression of worry. 

"Miss Woodsworth... Are you alright?" A sob wrenched from her throat and she violently shook her head-- it wasn't the only part of her shaking. How could she ever be alright again? Her most dearest friend and only confidant... Murdered? It didn't add up in her head; Marie was the most likable person she had the good grace to know. Why, she even seemed to favor William at parties, always chatting kindly to him, rather than down at him. 

Oh God... William. 

"William," she managed to gasp. "William Wainright. He... I saw... Oh Lord," Jacob was barely able to catch Cecily on her decent to the ground.   
  


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Cecily woke to Lydia's concerned matronly visage. She started to sit up, realizing she was in her four-poster bed, but the happenings of the day crashed quickly back into her mind. Suddenly she was assaulted with images of gore and death, things she read about at night to send an entertaining chill up and down her spine. Glancing nervously over at the book on her night-stand, she knew that she would never be able to read such things again without having to envision her best friend's limp body with dozens of small, trickling streams of blood decorating her petite form. Those green eyes, open even in death, that bored into Cecily's memory; they burned into her soul with the indelible mark that only tragedy bares. Looking back to Lydia, she brokenly relayed the scene to her, having to stop in the middle of sentences--words--to gulp back the tears. 

When she was finished, Lydia made soothing noises and embraced her employer in a hold of solace. *The poor thing is still a child... She shouldn't have to deal with the things that go bump in the night. So much blood runs loose in this city, but she didn't have to notice it yet... Not like this.* Lydia mourned silently to herself. When the tears had ravaged her complexion enough and burned her eyes and the back of her throat raw, they finally subsided. 

"Lydia..." Cecily began hesitantly, "It was William Wainright, the 'unwanted suitor.'" Lydia had been well informed of William's ardor towards her employer; aside from Marie, Lydia was her closest friend. 

"I didn't think I would affect him so," she continued. "I had no idea he would go after someone so close to me... Or that he was capable of such... Such... Atrocities. He's always been such a sweet, gentle man." Lydia did her best not to interrupt her while Cecily tried to suss it out, but the more she talked, the more uncomfortable it became. At the look of trepidation in the older woman's eyes, she stopped. 

"What?" she prodded. "Lydia, what is it?" 

Silence reigned for long moments more before Lydia cleared her throat. 

"Miss Cecily, William Wainright was found dead the morning after your party, two weeks ago... In the same alley you're describing, I believe. The funeral was held a few days after and he was buried in the Wainright's family plot. I thought it best you not know; for a while at least." To say the news stunned Cecily would be as big an understatement as it were to say that certain actors who wear long, black leather dusters on hit TV shows were merely "cute." 

Lydia hesitated, wondering if she should go on. There was an explanation for such things as Cecily had just described, but nothing that the Police would accept. Seeing as how they had been alerted roughly an hour ago, it appeared that it was not the time, nor place, for Lydia's revelation to her employer. Such a decision made, Lydia squeezed Cecily's hand in comfort. 

"Don't worry, Miss Cecily, I'm sure the police will figure it out just fine. I have no doubt that it was someone looking very much like the late Mr. Wainright; he has a very universal face." These words were of shallow solace to Cecily, however, but she accepted them with a grateful nod. Once her maid had left to fetch her tea, she sunk deep back into her bed. She had a hard time believing that it was anyone -but- William. The way his piercingly blue eyes had caught hers for those few frozen moments reminded her of every time she met his gaze at a social function. They were fixed on her face in a reverent, almost awestruck way. 

There was no -rational- explanation, of this she was sure, but even more certain that it was indeed the "late" William. 

*But I'll be damned before I profess that to the authorities* she figured wryly, noting the amount of skepticism that would be involved. And yet there was just no accounting for what she had seen. 

Closing her eyes, Cecily drifted off into an uneasy sleep plagued with haunting images and insecurities. 


End file.
